The Imaginary Marriage eBook

In Mrs. Bonner’s tiny sitting-room Hugh was
pacing restlessly in the confined space, pausing now
and again to listen.

She was coming—­coming. Presently she
would be here, presently he would see her, this girl
of his dreams, standing before him with the lamplight
on her sweet face.

But it was not to pour out the story of his love that
he had sent for her to-night. He must remember
that she came unattended, unprotected, relying on
his chivalry. Hugh took a grip on himself, and
now he heard the familiar creaking of the little gate,
and in a moment was at the door. But the excitement,
the enthusiasm of just now was passed.

He looked at her standing before him. Looking
at her, he pictured her as he had seen her before,
cold and haughty, her eyes hard and bright, her lips
curved with scorn for him, and now—­he saw
her with a flush in her cheeks, and the brightness
of her eyes was not cold, but soft and misty, and
her red-lipped mouth trembled.

Once he had seen her as now, all sweetness and tenderness.
And so in his dreams of her had he pictured her, and
now he saw her so again, and knew that his love for
her and need of her were greater even than he had
believed.

“I sent for you, Hugh.” She hesitated,
and again the colour deepened in her cheeks.

“And I left here Thursday,” he smiled.
“Joan, you have a spy in your house who reports
my movements and yours to Slotman. No sooner was
I gone from here than he was advised, and so he came.
Now do you understand why I am here. I knew that
man would come. He needs money, there is the
magnet of your gold. He will never leave you in
peace while he thinks you alone and unprotected, but
while I was here you were safe, for he is a very coward.”

“And that was why you came, knowing that he—­”

She paused. “And I—­I cut you
in the street, Hugh.”

“And hurt yourself by doing it,” he said
softly.

“Yes.” She bowed her head, and then
suddenly she thrust the softness and the tenderness
from her, for they must be dangerous things when she
loved this man as she did, and was promised to another.

“I must not forget that—­I am—­”
She paused.

“Promised to another man? But you will
never carry out that promise, Joan—­you
cannot, my dear! You cannot, because you belong
to me. But it was not of that that you came to
speak. Only remember what I have said. It
is true.”

“It cannot be true. I never break a promise!
What am I to do? Tell me and advise me.
You know—­what he—­he says—­what
he thinks or—­or pretends to think.”
Again the burning flush was in her cheeks.

“I know!”

“And even though it is all a vile and cruel
lie, yet I could not bear—­”